Free Assassins' Dawn by Stephen Leigh Page A

total control of this Assembly”—he paused significantly—“or attempting to consolidate what they already control, then the guilds would have a right to know.”
    A shout of contempt came from the left side of the hall, joined by a few other voices. “Sit down, Potok! You’re interrupting—”
    As Potok turned to deal with the hecklers, his own supporters voiced their own feelings at suitable volume. The contention rose, the voices growing steadily louder and more numerous as members of the ruling guilds joined in on one side or another. Potok, his chest heaving, struggled to be heard above them, facing Vingi and bellowing his complaints. Vingi sat watching the disturbance, then raised the gavel of office. He let the gavel fall and the amplified thud of wood on wood rang throughout the hall; a low, ringing note. The discussions faded slowly. Potok bowed to Vingi. “My thanks, Li-Gallant.”
    “I simply didn’t care to see the hall in dissension, Representative. I wouldn’t think it would behoove you to see it so, either. Will you yield the floor now, sirrah?”
    Potok shook his head. He shuffled the papers on his desk, glancing up to the dais. “I do not. There are other questions I would like answered, if the Li-Gallant has no answer to the others I’ve asked. Our sources, for one, tell us that certain parties have been selling ippicator skeletons to offworld concerns without paying the proper tithes to the guild treasuries, and without the tax that is due Neweden. Is that true?”
    “If your sources are reliable, but the government has heard nothing of this. I will investigate it personally. Does that satisfy you, sirrah?”
    “I trust the report will be prompt, Li-Gallant, since ippicator skeletons are a finite resource, and once depleted cannot be restored. Another matter: our guild-kin in Illi say that their continent has not been receiving its entire stipend for food, and that lassari have actually starved in Illicata. The ore mines have provided ore for the factories, the fishermen have produced record catches, and the farmers of the Southern Plain have had adequate rainfall this season. How can they not be prospering? Yet the figures I have before me”—he waved a sheet of flimsies about—“show an interesting dichotomy. I would like to read these into the record . . .”
    “The government of Neweden is not interested in fiction, Representative Potok. Your kin in Illi are not members of this Assembly by vote of the guilds. Representative Heenan of Illi is. I suggest you go over the figures with him and let us get on with more pressing business.” Vingi turned deliberately away from Potok, his ringed fingers spitting light as they passed through a stray sunbeam. Again shouts of agreement and protest came from the floor. Potok screamed to be heard.
    “I will not yield the floor until this Assembly listens to me!”
    He was shouted down. Across the floor, representatives rose to their feet to be better heard. Several strident voices demanded the floor as members of contending guilds exchanged taunts and threats. The pounding of the gavel was heard and ignored, and Vingi shouted for order into a nearby microphone, his voice ragged with overamplification. The noise quieted somewhat, but did not die. Potok crossed his arms over his chest and faced the dais with a face gray with anger. “I demand to be heard, Li-Gallant.”
    “You’ve been heard for the last hour, sirrah. Will you yield?” Wearily, for Vingi was genuinely tired. His rump hurt, his right foot itched, and he was beginning to feel faint hunger.
    “I will not. I have the floor. I intend to keep it until I receive some satisfaction. I’ll talk all day if necessary. The leader of my guild has been nearly killed, and the current government ignores the people it supposedly serves.”
    “You needn’t slander this Assembly in the hall, in open meeting.” Vingi’s voice boomed through the speakers, dwarfing that of Potok.
    “Slander